Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix
by David305
Summary: 12 Ficlets, in 7 Chapters: far-fetched puns based on the fifth book title! Responding with amazement to the continued pestering of kind respondents, my wandering brain found another. Hope you enjoy.
1. Fly in, Fly out

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, no money is being made, etc.

Harry felt in his pocket for the jangling coins as he sped on his broomstick toward Hogsmeade. Ron and Hermione had been eager to try the new fast food from Magical Meals, but only Harry had the invisibility cloak - or his own racing broom in Gryffindor Tower.

As he left the Hogwarts grounds and flew into Hogsmeade, Harry pulled off the cloak and tucked it into his book bag. He flew into the drive-up lane, but there were two brooms ahead of him. This gave him time to look at the menu, which was lit up magically.

Hmmm... he thought to himself. Unicorn burgers; Manticore on a stick; Kelpie Surprise. Nope, I'll just get what the guys asked for.

It was his turn at the window, and the young witch said, "Welcome to Magical Meals; may I take your order, please?"

Harry smiled and said, "Yes, please. I need a bucket of Phoenix. Enough for three."

The witch asked, "Do you want fries with that?"

"Better give us three orders of large fries," Harry replied.

"Okay, that'll be twelve sickles and seven knuts," the witch said.

Harry counted out the change. In no time at all, he was being handed two bags. "Here's your order of fries... and here's...

**_the order of the phoenix,_**"

the witch smiled. "Come back and see us soon!"

Harry pulled out his cloak, put the bags of food into his bookbag, and then slung it from the front of his Firebolt and sped off for Gryffindor tower. He especially wanted to keep the order of the phoenix hot. Nothing worse than stone-cold phoenix, he mused.

End


	2. HP&tOotP Ficlet Parodies 2 thru 4

[While waiting impatiently for Book 5 in the Harry Potter series, "The

Order of the Phoenix," many fans have created their own fanfics. I

humbly offer these new very brief parody versions of...]  
  
  
  


Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix  
  


Take Two - Darker  
  


Harry Potter hesitated before the gargoyle that guarded the door to Dumbledore's office. His scar had been burning again, and he figured he'd better tell the headmaster; but he didn't know the new password, only Dumbledore's penchant for naming it after muggle candies.  
  


"Er - Smarties! No, too obvious. Well then, what about ... Cadbury's Milk Bar? I guess not. Wait a minute: I know! Black Magic!"  
  


With that, the gargoyle leapt aside, and the moving spiral staircase hummed to life. Harry stepped on, and rode it up to Dumbledore's door. Stepping off, he knocked twice hesitantly. He heard no reply, so he rapped again, more insistently. There was still no answer. He tried speaking instead. "Professor? Are you there?"  
  


A croaky voice - not Dumbledore's - said, "Come in, Harry Potter!" Not quite sure whether to risk it, Harry slowly opened the door, to find - nobody. He looked around the office, and was about to leave, when he spotted Fawkes, Dumbledore's pet phoenix, resting on a perch by the window in the streaming sunlight.  
  


"'Lo, Fawkes," Harry murmured, as he walked over and stroked the bird's head.  
  


"Hello, Harry," the bird croaked.  
  


Harry jumped sideways in surprise as though his hand had been burned. "Fawkes! You - you can talk!" he stammered, excitedly.  
  


"One of my many gifts," said Fawkes. "And, yes, I can understand speech, organize my thoughts, communicate my intentions, and so forth. Albus did tell you that we phoenixes are uniquely unusual, didn't he?" Harry nodded, dumbstruck. "Well, then, don't be so surprised; and do go back to scratching my head, there's a good lad, especially behind the ear."  
  


Harry immediately reached out and touched Fawkes. The bird hummed melodiously, and Harry's fingers felt a bit warm. "Do you know where Professor Dumbledore is?" he asked.  
  


"He's off on an errand, but he'll be back in an hour or so. A little lower," Fawkes croaked.  
  


"Any idea where he said he was going?" inquired Harry.  
  


"I know exactly where; I sent him," said Fawkes.  
  


"What do you mean, 'You sent him?'" Harry said confusedly.  
  


"When Dumbledore taught me how to talk after my last Burning Day, he didn't really realize that a Phoenix is extremely persuasive. For a year now, I've been giving the orders, and he's been carrying them out," Fawkes croaked with a note of pride in his voice.  
  


"Wait a minute!" cried Harry. "Then it was your idea to allow four students into the Tri-Wizard tournament? And your idea to make the Tri-wizard Cup into a portkey? And... your idea to let me go back to the Dursleys' last summer, even with Voldemort lurking about?"  
  


"Naturally," said Fawkes impatiently. "You needed a little training up, get tougher, face some danger, prove your mettle. You survived, didn't you?"  
  


Harry couldn't believe it. "All the time I thought it was just Voldemort, getting lucky - but it was you, intentionally putting me in harm's way!"  
  


Fawkes was adamant. "You're taking this all wrong, Harry Potter. It was merely a training exercise, and you are none the worse for wear."  
  


"Stupid bird-brain," Harry muttered crossly, reaching into his pocket. He turned around and struck a match; Fawkes, used only to magic, would never expect it. Covering his hand, he swiveled around, and quickly lit the phoenix's tail-feathers. "Burning Day comes early this time, Fawkes!" he spat with a manic grin.  
  


Fawkes shrieked with rage, "Stop that! Put it out! Get some water!" came the Order of the Phoenix. But his oily feathers caught quickly, the flame becoming an inferno; and in no time, all that was left of Fawkes was a few puffs of ash on the floor, a scorch mark on the perch, and a rather sickening smell.  
  


Just then, Dumbledore opened his office door, and spotted Harry and the remains of Fawkes. "My goodness," he mused, "I had no idea it was time for a Burning Day yet. How can I help you, Harry?"  
  


Harry forgot all about his scar, and turned to Dumbledore with a frown. "There's just one thing you can do to help me, Professor. This time, don't teach Fawkes how to speak!" And with that, he walked out of the office in a huff.  
  


"How extraordinary," said Dumbledore, as he noticed a new, tiny, naked baby phoenix poking its head out of the ashes.  
  


End  
  


~*~*~*~  
  
  
  


Take Three - Darkest  
  


"You'll be taking your detention with Professor Dumbledore, Potter," said Professor McGonagall sternly. "The password is 'Charleston Chew.'"  
  


With his head lowered and shoulders rounded, Harry made his way up to the office. "Ah, there you are, Harry," Dumbledore said unsmiling. "I need you to clean out Fawkes' litter-box, and take the contribution down to Professor Sprout's magical fertilizer bins." He returned to his paperwork, and Harry frowned and flicked open a paper bag. As he scooped the smelly droppings into the bag, Fawkes looked down and emitted one pleasant note. Harry sighed and carried the paper bag out.  
  


Arriving at the greenhouses, Harry stopped a seventh-year Hufflepuff doing some extra credit work. "Excuse me, do you know where Professor Sprout keeps the magical fertilizers?"  
  


The Hufflepuff wrinkled his nose and turned sideways. "Greenhouse three, in the back, behind the fern cuttings." Harry thanked him and went out.  
  


At the back of greenhouse three, Harry saw four little bins, side by side. They were all labeled, in ancient script: Ye Dragon Dung, Unicorn Crap, Niffler Poop. The fourth one read, "The Ordure of the Phoenix."  
  


Holding his breath, Harry removed the lid and dumped the contents of the bag in. Quickly he covered it again, gasped, and ran out of the greenhouse. //It'll take hours to scrub my hands, but my nose will take days to recover,// he thought. It was one of the worst punishments he could remember, and he vowed to behave - at least for a while.  
  


End  
  


~*~*~*~  
  


Take Four - Pitch Black  
  


Harry was feeling peckish. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and these ministry parties had a bad habit of going on too long before dinner was served.  
  


The youngest-ever Minister of Magic brightened and smiled when he saw some elves in gold-trimmed tea-towels, proudly carrying in trays of little sandwiches, canapés, crackers and patés. Eagerly he waved over an elf, who seemed thrilled to be noticed by Harry.  
  


With gusto, he lifted a little cracker with a mound of paté to his mouth, and chewed. "This is different; isn't it goose liver paté?"  
  


"Oh, no, sir, Minister Harry Potter, sir!" the elf said, bowing. "These are the "Hors D'oeuvres of the Phoenix!"  
  


Harry turned pale; he spat the remaining food into a serviette, and made his way woozily out to find a loo.  
  


End


	3. HP&tOotP Ficlet Parodies 5 thru 8

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

(a series of parody ficlets based on the proposed title of the upcoming fifth book)

V.

Harry was waiting in Dumbledore's office for the headmaster's return. He'd had enough excitement before for touching things in here, like Dumbledore's pensieve; so he just sat quietly and thought about what Dumbledore might want to tell him. Perhaps he had news from his godfather.

Harry's reverie was jarred by the sudden sweet sound of phoenix-song. Looking over to the window, he saw Fawkes with his beak open, and his great tail all ruffled up. "Hello, Fawkes!" Harry smiled. The phoenix flapped its great wings a few times, then took flight and landed on Harry's leg.

To Harry's great surprise, the phoenix began to sniff between the boy's legs. This got the bird excited, and it began hopping up and down on Harry's leg. Not knowing what this was all about, Harry jumped up suddenly - but Fawkes continued to grip Harry's robes and knee, and his talons were getting a little painful. The phoenix began bobbing his whole great body up and down, like he was doing push-ups.

Just then, Fawkes cried out with a piercing shriek, quite unlike the lovely phoenix song Harry was used to. To his shock and mortification, Harry noticed a pearly-white liquid on his robes. He peeled his robes off his body, and laid them out on Dumbledore's desk, with Fawkes still gripping them.

Dumbledore walked in, and Harry turned a bright red. "Professor! Fawkes landed on my knee - and, well, he seemed to get excited, and started to squawk -"

Dumbledore smiled bashfully, and said, "You don't have to be apologetic, Harry; I should be the one to say I'm sorry! You see, twice a year, phoenixes go into heat. This is one of those times for Fawkes, and if he were with a female we should have tried to mate him. As it is, though, a rutting male phoenix tends to be a lot like a dog: he'll hump pretty much anything that moves."

Harry got a bit irritated. "How was I to know this? I'd have never let him land on me if I'd had a way of knowing."

"Ah, but there was a way, dear boy!" said Dumbledore. Your magical creatures text has a lot to say on phoenixes. Towards the end of the chapter? It's known as

"The Ardor of the Phoenix."

"That's as may be," said Harry. But in the meantime, would you mind awfully paying for the dry cleaning of my robes?"

"Not at all," said Dumbledore, with a proper mixture of remorse and amusement.

VI.

A month later, Harry was in Dumbledore's office again. The Headmaster was busy talking to someone on the fireplace, and Harry's eyes were drawn to Fawkes the phoenix, sitting on his perch and preening his beautiful feathers.

Harry walked quietly over to Fawkes, and reached out his hand to stroke the bird. But suddenly, Fawkes let out a loud cry, and made to peck at Harry's hand, which he quickly withdrew. Again the bird began preening, ignoring Harry.

Hoping this was just an aberration, Harry reached out again. This time, Fawkes did peck his hand, though he drew no blood; then the bird flew off to the corner of the room, landing on the back of a chair, and turned to display his tail at Harry, and stretch his long neck upwards.

Dumbledore was still preoccupied with his business. But Harry noticed that the magical creatures text was open on the desk, to the chapter on Phoenixes. Flipping again to the back of the chapter, he read:

"About one month after every heat or rut, Phoenixes become haughty, irritable and unapproachable. This only lasts a few days, and is known to breeders as

"The Hauteur of the Phoenix."

"Crikey," mumbled Harry, "sounds like bloody Aunt Petunia - only she's like that every month."

VII.

Harry had taken the disappearance of his snowy owl, Hedwig, quite hard. She had flown off in early October. Now it was nearly Christmas, and there was no sign of her. Ron and Hermione had consulted with Sirius and Hagrid; together they were planning on buying Harry a worthy bird as a Christmas present to take Hedwig's place.

Looking through the catalog from Eeyelop's Owl Emporium, Ron looked up at Hagrid with a start. "I thought these blokes just carried owls; but it says here you can order crows, ravens, falcons, vultures, condors, fwoopers - and even phoenixes!"

"Oh, aye," said Hagrid, excitedly. "They don't stock the more exotic birds, but they're available fer special orders. A good phoenix is like ter set yeh back about twice what an owl costs. The red and gold and the solid gold are common enough. All phoenixes are very loyal pets, and can carry mail like an owl, and a good deal more. But the silver phoenix is quite rare, and costs about a quarter more. They can fly invisibly, which makes them even stealthier than owls; and o' course, a phoenix can carry very heavy loads."

"Well, this is Harry we're talking about!" said Ron. He'd do anything for us; I'd like for us to get something really special for him."

"Then it's agreed," said Hermione. "We'll spring for the special order: one silver phoenix -

The Odder of the Phoenix'."

"I knew she'd say that," groaned Ron.

VIII.

Harry had gotten quite used to his new phoenix, which he had named Mabel. But as March approached, he began consulting library books and his magical beasts text. He remembered Fawkes' peculiar behavior the previous Fall; and as it was six months later, he was worried that the semi-annual heat might provoke unusual problems. He wanted to be ready.

"Uh-oh," Harry mumbled.

"Uh-oh, what?" Ron said, looking up from his homework.

"We're gonna have to move Mabel's perch out of here for a couple of weeks; maybe put it in the owlery. Or perhaps next to Fawkes'!" Harry snickered.

"Why? Do they start to shed, or make a racket?" asked Ron.

"It's not that - it's the smell," replied Harry, wrinkling his nose. During their heat, female phoenixes develop quite a rank pong. And we don't want to be woken up every morning to...

The Odor of the Phoenix!"

"Not again," groaned Ron, hiding his head under a pillow.

Characters belong to J. K. Rowling;

Story is mine.

No infringement is intended, no money is being made, and no wealth exists to attach!

Cheers,

David H.

Miami, Fla.


	4. The Bust ficlet 9

[Special mention and great thanks go to David Robin, who provided the pun. The story is mine; the characters all belong to JKR (she-who-must-be-revered).] 

  
  
  
  


IX.

  
  


Harry was annoyed. Since the fall of Voldemort and the round-up of the Death Eaters, he and his fellow Aurors had just been given mostly busy work: Drunk and Diswizardlies, Flying Under the Influence's, Bait and Bewitches, and various other economic crimes and petty offenses. What a bring-down for a man who had faced and conquered such great darkness! It was demoralizing, not to mention boring.

  
  


Harry was taking his lunch break at the Griffon and Unicorn when his Cell-Fire beeped. He put down his pumpkin doughnut and opened the communicator, setting it on the table. A small fire appeared in the grate, and a tiny head popped out of the fire.

  
  


"Potter here; what is it, Chief?" said Harry through a mouthful of crumbs.

  
  


"Potter," said the miniature fiery head of Chief Inspector Brusque, I think we've got a break on the 419: the massive disappearances of magical animals. I need you to apparate to the Brackish Brothers Warehouse in the Docksides. You'll be meeting agent Aurelius Swift at 1330 hours at the disused back entrance. And stay invisible, man! This also means using some no-odor spells; if there are magical animals there, I don't want them smelling you and giving away your position."

  
  


"Right, I'll be there; about 15 minutes, Chief?" said Harry, glancing at his watch, and lighting a cigarette from the top of the tiny bald head.

  
  


"Potter," the tiny man fumed, "how many times have I told you that isn't funny?"

  
  


"Only three times this week, Chief; but I guess this makes it four!"

  
  


"Bleeding celebrity cops," muttered the Chief. "Brusque out."

  
  


Harry took a few more minutes to finish his Manticore-on-a-Stick™ and his nice cuppa tea. This also gave his Cell-fire time to cool down before going back in his pocket. Then he headed for the little wizard's room for a brief relief, a wash up, and a few masking and odorless spells. He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out his old invisibility cloak, covered himself in it, and disapparated with a Pop!

A split-second later, Harry was apparating, albeit invisibly, across the street from the warehouse. He spied a fluffy little white maltese dog sniffing at the grass growing out of cracks in the pavement alongside. Harry tiptoed over; the little dog could hear him approach, but seemed puzzled that it couldn't smell him, and cocked its head to the side quizzically.

  
  


[A.N. for views of the maltese, see http://www.malteseworld.com/ .]

  
  


Harry bent over and whispered to the little Animagus, "I'll never quite get over the 'Bustingest Bobby in Bristol' looking like that!" The little dog opened its mouth into a grin and winked. "Ready?" asked Harry.

  
  


"Yip!" replied Swift softly.

  
  


"Once we've located the contraband, and have a handle on the evidence, I'll need you to lead the culprits on a diversion. Listen for a single note of phoenix-song, then run. When you have them in the northeast corner and you're ready, call for me."

  
  


"Rrrigh'!"

  
  


Harry smiled. "Okay, let's go." They crept up to the back entrance and Harry raised his wand, poking it out of the side of the invisibility cloak. "Alohomora," he whispered, and the locks clicked open. He pushed gently, but the door resisted. "Disjungo," he muttered, and the crossbar inside floated off the door latches. "Silencio," he aimed at the hinges. "Umbra," he said, to keep the opening door in shadow. Then he pushed lightly again, and the door creaked open quietly. Harry only opened it wide enough for him and the little dog to sneak in, and then he quickly closed it.

  
  


Once inside, the dog trotted off waving its tail high in the air like a fan. Harry let his eyes adjust to the dark - but there was no mistaking the smell and the noise. Following his ears and nose, he was led straight to a large stack of cages. There were dozens of phoenixes - reds, golds, and even a few rare silvers. Only one was singing melodiously; but several were squawking quite outrageously. Harry reckoned that there hadn't been that many phoenixes held in captivity together since the days of the pharaohs, and he wanted to know why.

  
  


Tiptoeing in the direction the little dog had run, he heard two male voices. The phoenixes all went quiet. An older man was lecturing a younger, and as he rounded a corner they came into view.

  
  


"You mark me, lad, hevery blinkin' week dese birds is kep' off da market, da price goes up ten per cent! Your favver 'as a business 'ead, 'e 'as!"

  
  


"Yeh," said the younger, pimplier man, "bu' wifout Dumbledore's phoenix, you can' rightly say dat you've go' hevery one in Bri'ain, can you?"

  
  


The older man looked scandalized. "'Enry, if You-know-'oo was scared of hold Dumbledore, Hi'd be daft ta mess wiv'im! We've made orf wif all, minus one. So we'll 'ave ta se''le for 99% of rich. Nuffink wrong widdat."

  
  


Just then, a phoenix sang, and the little maltese yapped at the two men. Their eyes bugged out as they jumped out of their chairs. "'Ere! Where'd you come from, then?" yelled young Henry. The dog scampered off to the far corner of the warehouse, away from the doors, chased angrily by the two men. Silently, Harry cast an anti-apparation field around the corner; there'd be no sudden escapes.

  
  


The men had got the little dog in the corner, and were wearing big, murderous grins. The little dog barked in a little, high voice, and the two men chuckled. Then from behind they heard, "Halt, in the name of the Ministry of Magic!" and their blood ran cold. Turning around, they saw a black-haired man holding up a wand and removing an invisibility cloak.

  
  


"Better do what he says," said another voice in front of them. Turning back around with their eyes popping and their hair standing up, they saw a small man with another upraised wand, a big smile, narrowed eyes, and white-blond hair and beard. "He's Potter."

  
  


"And he's Swift," Harry grinned back.

  
  


"Bloody 'ell, it's Po''er and Swif'!" yelped Henry.

  
  


"Time ta you-know-what ta you-know-where!" said his dad out the side of his mouth. The two men spread their feet, closed their eyes and grimaced, and - nothing happened.

  
  


"Exarmantur," said Harry, off-handedly, and the two men's wands whipped from their pockets into his hands. No need to knock them down with an expelliarmus spell; these men seemed shady but not dangerous. "Sorry, chaps, anti-apparation field; you're not going anywhere; not without us, anyway. Horace and Henry Brackish, you're under arrest for stealing and hoarding magical creatures with the intent to defraud the animal-fancying wizarding public. I warn you that anything you say may be taken down."

  
  


"Now, now, gennelmen," said Horace, sweating. "We was on'y watchin' dese birds for my bruvver, Herwin! 'E's da real brains of da houtfit; 'e's da real 

'oarder of da Phoenix'!"

  
  


Swift barked out a high-pitched laugh. "I suppose the jury will decide who the real hoarder is. Erwin is being arrested right now, by another team." Horace sagged visibly.

  
  


"Come now," said Harry, "do co-operate, there's a good fellow."

  
  


"Well hennyways, 'Enry," mumbled Horace, putting his wrists together to be magically bound, "hat least you can tell yer kids dat you was tyken in by 'Arry Bleedin' Po''er!"

  
  


"Shu'up, Dad," Henry mumbled back.

  
  


Swift lowered his wand, and winked at Harry. "Go on, Harry. As long as we're waiting for backup - go on. You know you want to."

  
  


"Oh, all right," Harry smirked.

  
  


He stood stiffly, rocking back and forth from one leg to the other, nose in the air, one eyebrow arched, and started twirling his wand like a baton. In a gruff voice, Harry said: "'Ere-'ere-'ere! What's all this, then?" It was the classic caricature of "A Bobby trying to act intimidating."

  
  


In spite of themselves, the Brackishes giggled - and then roared with laughter. They had never had such a good time getting arrested.

End

  
  
  
  


[Due deference and gratitude go once more to David Robin, whose pun was clever and warranted a fuller ficlet.]


	5. Phoenix, the Next Generation ficlet 10

HP&tOotP ficlet 10

  
  


Harry was puzzled when Mabel, his new pet phoenix, began gathering scraps of straw and parchment; but he was delighted when he saw a little golden egg amidst the scraps. It was apparent that Mabel was expecting a phoenix chick - a very rare event. "I wonder if Fawkes will be handing out unburnable cigars!" Harry thought.

  
  


After nesting for two weeks, Mabel began to sing her beautiful phoenix song continuously, and all the kids in Gryffindor tower started dropping by to hear it, as it gave them such pleasure. Suddenly, though, on a Sunday evening, she stopped abruptly. Harry and Ron heard a crunching sound, and Harry pushed aside some of Mabel's belly-feathers and saw a scrawny little chick, wobbling its head around, huddled in the nest surrounded by broken eggshells.

  
  


"Nice work, girl!" Harry smiled at Mabel, stroking her head, and she closed her eyes and trilled softly. "Hey, Ron, what does a mother phoenix feed her chick?"

  
  


"Haven't a clue," said Ron, "why don't you ask Hermione or Hagrid?"

  
  


"Good idea," said Harry. As Hermione was closer, he went down to the common room. "Oi, Hermione, Mabel's chick has hatched! What does it need for food?"

  
  


"That's great, Harry, I'll come see it shortly, after I look something up," Hermione replied. She ran up the girls' staircase, and came back down carrying a book. "It says here that phoenixes don't need to forage to feed their young. Come on, I'll show you." With that, she ascended the boys' staircase to Harry and Ron's dorm, Harry following behind her.

  
  


Hermione walked over to Mabel, smiled and scratched her head; Mabel warbled a friendly greeting. Then she reached under Mabel, and pushed aside her belly feathers. "Not really a cute chick," she said, "but it'll be beautiful shortly when it's feathers grow in. Now, look here, Harry. See this little ridge on her belly, just forward of her tail?" Harry knelt down beside her to see. "Phoenixes are the only bird that has a kind of mammary gland. They produce a rich substance very much like mammals' milk, so they don't need to forage for their chicks!"

  
  


"You don't mean -" Harry paused for effect, winking at Hermione - "that this is - 

The UDDER of the Phoenix?!"

  
  


Ron looked up, turning red. Sputtering, he ran for the door, yelling, "Aaaaaaah!"

  
  


Harry smirked at Hermione, and said, "Stop me before I pun again!"


	6. On the High Seas ficlet 11

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Parody Ficlet #11

On the High Seas  
  
  
  
  
  


Captain McPhee of HMS Phoenix was burstingly proud of his vessel.  
  


"Aye, mateys, she's the fastest ship, magical or muggle, in the world! When the magical generators are fully charged, she can reach 120 knots! But they're tricky, and when they're down we have to rely on diesel turbines."  
  


"Oh, and how fast can they go?" asked Hermione, enjoying the breeze and salt spray.  
  


"Well, when both are running we can skim along at nearly 40 knots. If one is down, perhaps 25-30. But if both are down, we have to hoist the sails."  
  


"Really!" said Ron, his robes whipping in the wind. And what's her speed under sail?"  
  


"Never more'n 18 knots," the captain frowned. "And if she's becalmed, there's only one thing left to do."  
  


"What's that?" asked Harry, standing nimbly on the rolling deck with Mabel perched on his shoulder.  
  


"The Phoenix has 20 little holes from fore to aft, on both sides. If we're becalmed, and all other forms of locomotion have failed us, we have these long oars. We then have to call upon all our crew and passengers to pitch in until we can find a breeze. With two on each oar, 80 men rowing, we can get up to four or five knots."  
  


"I don't see any holes," said Harry, looking down the starboard side.  
  


"Well, lad, we only open 'em when we need 'em! They're covered by little doors that stay latched. When we have to use 'em, we unlatch 'em and open the door and stick out the oar."  
  


"Ah, I see!" Said Harry, winking at Hermione. And do you call one of these ...  
  


The Oar-Door of the Phoenix?"  
  


"No... no... NOOOOOO!" Ron screamed, and jumped overboard.  
  


Lucky the captain had his wand handy! He levitated Ron before he could hit the water, and mobilicorpused him right into sick bay. "Lousy landlubbers," he muttered, shaking his head.  
  


END


	7. Recycling ficlet 12

Recycling  
  


Over the years at Hogwarts, Harry had noticed that the wizarding-born students received a lot more "care packages" from home than the muggle-born students. There seemed to be a few reasons for this. First, wizarding parents were likely to have attended Hogwarts themselves, and so had a clearer idea of what was and was not available or permitted at school. Second, wizarding families were far more likely to possess a family owl -- the main way of getting a small package from home to school, and of course, for getting those pleading letters for sweets from school to home!  
  


Having Mabel the Phoenix as a pet, though, was like having a fleet of express super-freight owls: she could make her flights to far-flung places invisibly and at amazing speeds; and of course she could carry incredible weights. Harry remembered the time in his second year when Fawkes the phoenix had lifted (and flown with) the weight of Ron, Ginny, himself and Professor Lockhart together, without batting an eye or losing a tail-feather. The only problem, unfortunately, was that Harry's family happened to be the Dursleys -- who would sooner dance down Privet Drive in dress robes and wizards' hats, singing "That Old Black Magic," than ever send him a care package.  
  


So after a while, Harry began lending Mabel to his friends (mostly his closest ones from his year, and a few from D.A.) to let them get things from home they needed quickly, or that no owl could bring. "Please, no pianos!" he would joke -- although he had no doubt that Mabel could handle a baby grand if she had to. (Even though he didn't think it would fly very aerodynamically.) Mabel didn't seem to mind at all. She liked getting the exercise, and as a very devoted pet, she would do anything for Harry. And the families loved seeing the phoenix, as it was so rare and beautiful, had such a nicer voice than owls, and had much more sanitary habits: it didn't cough up dead mice, and was fully house-broken.  
  


Hermione in particular was very grateful for the loan of Mabel's services, since she didn't have an owl of her own, (she already had a cat named Crookshanks, and students were only allowed one pet,) and the school owls, being less personally loyal, were much more reluctant to carry anything heavier than a large birthday card back to school. It was obvious to Harry that Hermione would be one of those witches who would live very comfortably in both worlds when she grew up -- she wanted things like the Sunday Times, some muggle magazines (he even thought he saw The Economist in her package a few times), and paper goods.  
  


Toilet paper was one of those things that wizards simply didn't do as well as muggles. The school bathrooms all had a standard-issue toilet paper that was rather scratchy and not very absorbent -- the type Hermione had seen and reluctantly used in some parts of Europe in less deluxe public rest rooms. So when her parents agreed to send her a monthly supply of her favorite brand from the Safeway, she was in heaven. (Yes, she could transfigure the wizarding paper to something softer; but she could only do it a sheet at a time, not a roll at a time, making it just too time-consuming.)  
  


Another treat they sent her via Mabel was rolls of paper towels. This was something wizards didn't seem to have at all. They used cloths, assuming that a house-elf or a laundering charm would always be available. But paper towels had a hundred handy uses, from wiping up spills to blotting lipstick. Once Lavender and Parvati got addicted to them too, Hermione found she was going through rolls faster!  
  


One of the little things from her childhood that Hermione was addicted to, she called a "Dur-dur." This was an impromptu musical instrument made from the empty brown cardboard tube from the end of the roll of paper towels. (In Harry's family, a Der-der was "That springy thing with the rubber stopper screwed into the baseboard behind the doors in your house to keep the door from hitting the wall." But he wasn't going to correct her.) Hermione would hold the tube up to her lips and sing through it, as it produced a funny echoing sound far away from one's ears. (You could do the same thing with a toilet paper tube, but it being much shorter, you didn't get the fine distant hollow-sound effect.) And it got its name from the phrase of choice she would sing into it: "Dur-dur-dur-dur!" Seamus insisted his dad used to make a kazoo with a tube, a rubber band, and wax paper; but Hermione was quite content with her Dur-dur. Hermione never seemed to tire of her little "instrument" -- but Harry did.  
  


Hermione would sing all the ditties she could remember through her Dur-dur, while studying and reading with her friends in the common room by the fireplace. Unfortunately, a lot of the melodies she remembered were commercial jingles and TV series' theme songs, many of which were already old in her parents' day. Pure-blooded wizards like the Weasleys, having never heard them before, found these melodies interesting or novel. But Harry, having grown up with the worst kind of muggles, was sick of them even before he got to Hogwarts. When Hermione's mindless "Dur-dur-dur"-ing would get on his nerves, Harry would roll his eyes and mutter, "Aw, give it a rest!"  
  


One evening in the common room, when Hermione simply would not stop, Harry, in a fit of pique, grabbed the tube right out of her hands. She tried to snatch it back from him, but he dodged back and forth. Ron and Ginny knew better than to get in the middle of this argument, so they just kept their heads down. Seeing no ally to help him, Harry looked around in a panic. Then he spotted Mabel perched up high. "Oy, Mabel!" he shouted, "Go long!"  
  


Mabel flew from her bookcase, and Harry lobbed the Dur-dur through the air, which she caught nicely in her beak. She landed atop another bookcase, and Harry sat down to his books with a big smile on his face.  
  


"Well, aren't you going to help me get it back from her?" Hermione asked him crossly.  
  


"Not on your life," said Harry. "I've been asking you to put that away for hours! If you want it back, you can get it yourself!" Hermione looked at him with a pout.  
  


Then she looked over at Mabel atop her bookcase, who seemed to be holding the cardboard tube at a variety of odd angles with one of her legs, while she stared down it with her beady eye. Finally she began to sing her beautiful melodic phoenix-song down the tube, and seemed excited by the tones that came out the other end. She flapped her wings a little, and bobbed her head. She started singing again through the tube, but this time she was making little puffy sounds, that sounded almost like "Dur-dur-dur!"  
  


"At least it's not cereal jingles!" said Harry. "Looks like Mabel has made it her own! Hope you don't mind."  
  


Hermione cocked her head with a little wink. "You mean it's -- "  
  


"That's right," Harry winked back, "It's --   
  


"The Dur-Dur of the Phoenix!"  
  


Ron sank into his couch with a low moan, covering his head with a book. Harry and Hermione snickered.  
  


- End -


End file.
